


cruising through the doom days

by elizabethelizabeth



Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan, RIORDAN Rick - Works
Genre: Apocalypse, Confessions, End of the World, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ragnarok, She/Her Pronouns For Alex Fierro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 04:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethelizabeth/pseuds/elizabethelizabeth
Summary: "They wordlessly ate the last s’mores in the universe."





	cruising through the doom days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragon_with_a_teacup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_with_a_teacup/gifts).



“You know,” Magnus grunted as he shifted his weight slightly, trying his best not to move too quickly, “for as thin as you are, you’re quite heavy.”

“You know it’s impolite to comment on a lady’s weight.”

Quick as ever, even the apocalypse couldn’t stop Alex Fierro. Her words came stiff, thick from holding back pain, but not without wit. 

Magnus let out an exhausted laugh. He wasn’t going to let a measly thing like a burning hellscape get in the way of his enjoyment of Alex Fierro. Magnus was long past pretending to be anything but wholeheartedly interested in all aspects of Alex. 

“Here,” Alex said suddenly. “Drop me here.”

Magnus eyed the surroundings. “You sure?”

“You need to fix your arm. Then you need to fix my foot. I think we’ll be safe enough.”

Magnus mentally added the  _ for now _ that was absent from Alex’s assurances. 

Magnus kneeled, lowering Alex down until she was propped up against a set of shelves. Magnus joined her on the white and red tiled floors. Walmart hadn’t lasted beyond the 31st century, but Target had stood the test of time. Literally. The shelves had long since been picked over by others more hysterical and desperate than Magnus, but there was still a fair amount of food left. Magnus had to admit, though, that the rather large pit of lava in front of it might have something to do with Target’s current vacancy.

Magnus set himself down beside Alex, trying not to cry out in pain as his broken and burned arm brushed against an opened box of graham crackers. He caught Alex’s eye. Her leg was bent at the knee, the burn on her shin exposed to the acrid air. “We don’t have a lot of time for you to gawk, Maggie.” She smiled, and it just barely reached her eyes.

Magnus closed his in response, inhaling a deeply, and channeling his waning Vanir-son energy into healing his arm. Ever since Surt and Fenrir and the whole host of Magnus’ favorite people had gotten their evil act together about the end of the world, Magnus was having more and more trouble healing himself, much less his friends. He was grateful for any moment he could take to focus.

Magnus looked up at the shelf above him as his body mended, taking stock of what Boston’s besieged locals decided to leave behind when preparing for armageddon. “Hey, Alex.” With his free hand, Magnus knocked a plastic bag down between them, then gestured to the heat radiating from the ominous, lava-infested crack in front of them. “Want some s’mores?”

Alex rolled her eyes, and Magnus was suddenly back in Valhalla, or back at the brownstone, or back at the campsite in the Blue Hills. Magnus and Alex could have been anywhere, but it was always the same: Magnus being Magnus, Alex rolling her eyes. 

“Look, I’m never going to say no to s’mores obviously, but is now really the best time?”

“It’s the end of the world. I think it’s the best time for s’mores.”

“Kraft, Honey-Maid, and Hershey’s should’ve hired you on as marketing.” Alex gestured to the lava pit and used her best Magnus-Chase-voice to speak to the burning board of directors. “Eat S’mores! Armageddon’s favorite food!”

“We’ll workshop it.” Magnus closed his eyes again, trying not to be sick from the heat radiating from his body. With healing came higher body temperatures, and it made Magnus nauseated in combination with the burning of the entire universe.

“You think Jack would be mad if we used him to toast marshmallows on?”

“Oh, he’d be furious.” And indeed, Jack was already weakly protesting, arguments flowing through Magnus’ conscious. “Oh, would you rather be impaling lindworms instead of marshmallows?” Jack didn’t answer.

“Is he arguing?”

“He’s conceded defeat.” Magnus undid the clasp on his pendant, and there was Jack softly humming “Till The World Ends” by Britney Spears. He’d had a whole playlist of doomsday music prepared for years, but the last few days had been a loop of Britney. Magnus had a uncomfortable suspicion that, like Magnus’ healing powers, Jack’s lifeline was slowly fading. 

Magnus refused to think on it. He tore open the marshmallow bag with his teeth, spearing two onto Jack, and placed the singing sword (now humming “I’m a Slave 4 U”) over the bubbling lava.

“I like mine—”

“Burnt, I know.”

“‘Blackened’ is the term I prefer.”

“You’re a heathen and you always have been.”

Alex mumbled something that sounded like  _ your heathen _ and if it had been any other time Magnus might have blushed in response. Even now, he smiled at the jest. 

Magnus twirled Jack around slowly. He could hear Alex preparing the grahams and chocolate beside him. “Here, hand yours over. I’ll make it for you.”

“I like—”

“Extra chocolate.” Magnus faced Alex—her marshmallow would be fine—and noticed that her smile finally matched the mirth in her eyes. “I know.”

It could have been any other time, and they both tried to make it such. Samirah was long gone, having lived her life to the fullest as long as mortal lives lasted. Mallory and Halfborn had gone out in a blaze of glory, back to back, screaming obscenities and brandishing destruction. TJ led one last charge, leapt into battle with a practiced finesse, and cut down Fenrir with his last blow. Blitzen and Hearthstone, ever calculating and scheming of a way out, a way to stop the madness, promised Magnus they’d be back soon even though Magnus could see the lie clear as day on both their faces.

Alex had stood steadfast, held his hand, and they both had wept and rejoiced and screamed and fought with every fiber that made up their long lives—too long lives spent preparing for an end that Magnus still wasn’t ready for.

Magnus pulled Jack back, back into the pendant around his neck. Alex captured the marshmallow between two graham crackers, and it was any other moment. It wasn’t really, but Magnus was good at hoping.

They wordlessly ate the last s’mores in the universe.

He kept his eyes closed, trying to savor the taste and the sensation, but ended up finishing the treat too quickly. It was the end of the world; why waste time?

“Magnus…”

Magnus forced his eyes open. Alex looked as broken as he felt, and he could feel the Vanir energy fading. “I don’t think we’re—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. Magnus reached out, bringing Alex’s face closer to his, resting his forehead against hers. “Don’t even think it.”

He could see Alex holding back, feel the tension rising and brimming beneath her skin. He knew that dread and that hopelessness all too well. “Magnus, what are we doing?”

“Besides making s’mores?”

“Magnus, the universe is literally a garbage fire right now and we’re making s’mores.” She paused. “And you’re still a sarcastic shit.”

“The world hasn’t broken down completely then, has it?”

There was soot on Alex’s cheek and ash in her hair. The bags under her eyes brought on by stress had only gotten deeper as the endless heat of days wore on, but her eyes had never lost their shine. She felled a fire-giant, and its corpse had almost killed her on its way down, burning and breaking her leg in the process. She had grinned with the exhilaration of it all. She was beautiful. She had been beautiful for—what was it now? Hundreds, thousands of years? 

Magnus hated to see Alex anything but happy, but the worry and fear and exhaustion was impossible for her to hide, her flame dimming in the heat of their end. 

Magnus experimentally flexed his fingers, gauging the pain. He figured he had just enough energy to heal Alex and fight Surt, both for the last time. He turned to Alex once again, just as she brushed a graham cracker crumb from her cheek. “I love you.”

Alex froze, moved her eyes to meet Magnus’, and stared. “Magnus…”

He’d never said it before. Neither of them, over the years, had ever said it. He hadn’t meant to say it just then, truth be told. What a cliche, to finally confess at the end of the world, especially considering the innumerable chances he’d had over the years.

He could have said it after that second kiss, the one after their first Ragnarok, when Alex’s hands left imprints in the chocolate on Magnus’ skin and her smile left imprints on Magnus’ heart. The third and fourth and fifth and five hundredth kiss had ample opportunities, in the spaces between breaths where Magnus searched Alex’s eyes and locked onto a lingering affection. When they danced at Samirah and Amir’s wedding, Magnus awkwardly and Alex without hint of embarrassment at his utter lack of skill, their hands had intertwined and Magnus followed where Alex led, and would have followed him forever. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” Magnus paused again. “I love you, Alex. I should have said it years ago. I love you. I don’t know if you care, if you even want to hear it, but I’m saying it anyway. I love you.”

Alex didn’t answer immediately, and Magnus found that he was not disappointed. Maybe a younger version of himself would have obsessed over Alex’s silence, trying to draw answers and acceptance out of her, remove splinters of hurt from her surface, her bristling pain keeping others from ever getting close. All he needed now was for Alex to know—to have the knowledge of the depth of Magnus’ affection.

The words, Magnus’ confession, hung in the air between them, heavier than any heat.

Alex finally did answer, but not in the way Magnus expected. She never looked away. “Can you heal my leg?”

Magnus nodded, reaching for Alex’s shin. Over the years, Magnus found that the closer he was to the wound, the less likely it was that he’d inadvertently see the other person’s thoughts. It was something he’d learned to control over the years, and Alex had long since stopped shying away from Magnus’ offers of healing. Rather hilariously, she’d started demanding healing from mortal wounds during practice battles to minor papercuts that were entirely her own doing.

Before Magnus could touch Alex’s leg, she held his wrist tightly and brought it to her cheek, the same one with flecks of graham cracker left over. “Magnus,” her earnest voice demanded Magnus’ attention, but he would give it willingly no matter the circumstance. “Heal me.”

Magnus’ eyes widened, understanding her meaning, and Alex closed hers in anticipation. Magnus sent out a golden shockwave, and he was suddenly in Alex’s mind for the first time in years.

“I’m your heathen.” Back to back with Magnus, fighting jötunns with the earth burning beneath their feet. “Come on, Mags, I’ve still got at least five fights left in me.” How did he manage to look beautiful during destruction? “Dance with me.” Fuck, Magnus is hot in a suit. “No. Don't leave. Not yet. Stay.” Five hundred, five, four, their third kiss is when Alex started to understand, finally retracting her barbs to let Magnus get close, golden glow no longer suffocating. 

Rushes, onslaught of memories, and between every one the same feeling.

She was there, right in front of him, and Magnus wanted to kiss her so badly, so he did. She tasted like ash and blood and chocolate and her green hair was somehow still soft beneath his fingertips, but there was no time to examine how impossible that was. What point was there in impossibility when Alex Fierro loved him, had always loved him? He felt like crying and laughing and screaming, wanting to draw the attention of every monster within earshot, because what did he care? Alex Fierro loved him, had always loved him. Her nails were sinking desperate depressions into the skin of his arms, sharp against the dull gold of his power, anchoring him down to the burning earth. Her cheeks were damp now, or were his? “I love you.” She loved him. She had always loved him. “You’re the best thing that happened to me, too.”

“Gods, Alex,” Magnus kissed her again, again. Maybe if he didn’t stop then the world would stop ending around them. “I’m…”

“Don’t apologize, Magnus.” She kissed like she fought: purposefully. “You can apologize later.”

“Alex, the world is on fire.” Magnus would make his last stand here, right in this moment, kissing Alex Fierro, if he could. “There isn’t enough time.”

She pulled back finally, grinned wickedly. The fight in her eyes had come back. Maybe it had never left. Whatever the case, Magnus knew she didn’t plan on dying today. She loved him, and she always had. “We’ll make time.”

_ when I watch the world burn, all I think about is you _

**Author's Note:**

> so, story time. last december, my dear friend and editor [dragon_with_a_teacup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_with_a_teacup/pseuds/dragon_with_a_teacup) and I simultaneously started writing fics that featured marshmallows in some capacity. she was an absolute dear and gifted her version to me ([here it is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032953)) for my birthday! very, VERY belatedly, here is my marshmallow fic as a gift to her!  
> title taken from "Doom Days" by Bastille, despite the song not existing during the majority of my writing of this fic, but the lyrics are Magnus/Alex perfection


End file.
